Uncreative Writing
by ED-boi
Summary: Words are lovely things. They can inspire emotion in you. You can express yourself with them. You can talk through them. And they can talk through you...


**Nobody owns Animal Crossing, Animal Crossing owns us.**

* * *

It's 1 AM, paperwork's done

Thin strips of fun

And I bashed it all to the floor

Because there was no more.

* * *

My life was neat again, 1:30 AM it was

My laughter wore out, it ceased its applause

My eyes were bloodshot

Behind them, just rot.

* * *

I wrote the words, but I grew cold

Today, ink is old

I sought something bold-

The ink man doth hold.

* * *

The Town Hall's watering cans, I took them all

Though their original purpose was small.

Didn't require masterful skill

Didn't need you to kill.

* * *

The cage broke, I'm out

A lunatic scout

First I'd write in the dirt

About how much I hurt

* * *

There was no shovel, no need

If I didn't hurry I would bleed

Digging letters and dots in happy soil

The grave's inscription prepared through toil.

* * *

And an angry mole popped up, Mr Resetti it seems

He screams outside my head, but I'm in my dreams

Don't really realise

That he dies.

* * *

I think so. He stopped screaming at once

That my digging woke him, that I was a dunce

He was just screaming now

He was just screaming.

* * *

Maybe I killed him. That is my paw

Red

That is his eye

Dead.

* * *

My watering cans held the ink

The liquid vampires drink.

* * *

But I was close to the beach, and somebody had rasped

Kapp'n had seen, because Kapp'n had gasped

Probably sailed here as he wouldn't sleep

He's asleep now.

* * *

A boat sailed itself home

A headless turtle in the gloam.

* * *

I wrote a note for his family there, a nice little one

Pinned on his neck, said writing's not done.

* * *

I fill up more watering cans.

* * *

But the ink goes nowhere without paper, so I steal

Super T&T shattered, and the young Nooks squeal

Once.

* * *

I have more paper.

I have more ink.

* * *

I write, and stop. I've run out.

I don't pout.

I find more.

In Ava's house.

* * *

The chicken squawks- her door is gone

Her face is drawn

I demand more paper to use

And she hates to refuse.

* * *

I'm still under her roof

She wasn't aloof

I use my last pen, it runs out

But she's still there

And now she's not.

* * *

The watering cans are full. And I have paper

Soft as feathers.

* * *

I have the materials. I had the materials

Run out

They are made from trees, I slice them down

I have no axe.

* * *

And there's fruit. There's apples, oranges, cherries

Then there's the cores, the orange peels

Juicy sweet redness on my lips

And metallic bitter redness on my lips.

* * *

Also fish, which taste like something

If you can taste

Which I couldn't anymore

Despite the sea painted red

* * *

And I put the sea in the containers,

And squeezed lemons in my eyes.

* * *

Tell me if it hurts.

* * *

Still writing, that's life

I go where it's rife

The museum

There was no journey there.

* * *

Blathers was awake, greeted me

Confused little owl

Offered to show me the paintings

I made him his own.

* * *

Mona Lisa, Night Watch, The Milkmaid

I've never been interested in art

But now I am

I'm with my friends.

* * *

Death spells 'Death' on Sunflowers

As it does in my eyes

And those in future.

* * *

I'm outside perhaps

And Digby too

He was my brother

He was my brother

* * *

A brother that hugs me

Because he heard me

And woke up

But sleeps again.

* * *

He gave me warmth

He gave me love

I gave him drink

I gave him blood

* * *

He's my watering can

Squeeze to use

And it's very soft

His heart.

* * *

So I write

I have Digby

I have skin

And creative paws

* * *

And 5 AM, there's more villagers

And 6 AM, there's less villagers

And more writing

Creative writing

* * *

And 7 AM, there's the mayor

He wakes up

Unconvinced

Because it looks like my dream

* * *

And he stands in it

In the ink

It spells 'Death'

That beautiful word

* * *

The word is the doorstep

His house is last.

* * *

But he's mayor, but he speaks

That these acts are wrong

I don't understand

My handwriting is fine.

* * *

And he values paper and ink

Though they're replaceable

Tears fall in the red sea

And they smudge my work.

* * *

His only achievement is 'why?'

Why? I laugh

Paperwork is too small

Walking sheets are too tall

* * *

And I live on it

In it

With it

For it

* * *

My days are spent writing.

He appeals to friendship

He calls on reason

But I haven't written them.

* * *

Only 'Death'. Because it's an absence

That fills my life.

And now his.


End file.
